Beneath the Badge

Beneath the Badge

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Dedicatoin

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Copyright

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling to kids for romance and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA or visit her website at www.ritaherron.com.

To Rickey and Delores for making me fall in love

with the Rangers…

Chapter One

“Taylor Landis needs protection.”

Sergeant Hayes Keller pushed his half-eaten bloodred steak away, his appetite vanishing. He knew Brody McQuade, his lieutenant, was still pissed at him for sleeping with his sister, Kimberly, and forcing him to babysit the richest, prissiest heiress in Texas must be his way of punishing him.

“But Montoya killed Kimberly,” Hayes said, “and Carlson tried to kill Caroline, and you took care of him.”

Brody cleared his throat. “We have to tie up loose ends. I’m at the crime lab in Austin, and we got the results of Carlson’s autopsy. Egan said Carlson acted as if he’d been drugged, and the coroner found ketamine in his system.”

“Ketamine—that’s Special K on the streets. I’m not surprised,” Hayes said. “Carlson had money. He ran with the party crowd.”

Brody sighed, sounding weary. “We need to search Carlson’s place, see if we find evidence of the drug.”

“Why? He’s dead. Good riddance.”

“Yeah. But during the shoot-out, when Egan confronted Carlson about being on drugs, he denied taking anything.”

“So you think someone else drugged him?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

Hell. He wouldn’t be at all surprised that someone else wanted Carlson dead.

“And we still aren’t sure who planted that bomb that blew up Taylor’s car. It looks as if it was intended for her, not for Caroline. Which means that if Carlson tried to kidnap Caroline because she had him fired and he didn’t commit all these murders, someone else wanted to hurt Taylor.”

“So she’s still in danger.” Hayes slapped his beer down on the bar. He so wanted this case to be over, so he could leave Cantara Hills. “Carlson probably set the bomb.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Caroline is worried sick about Taylor. She said that Taylor admitted that Kimberly and Kenneth Sutton had argued before the hit-and-run. I want to know what that argument was about.”

Damn. Kenneth Sutton—the powerful and ambitious chairman of the City Board who was now running for governor. Kimberly had been interning in the man’s office before her murder.

And she had been upset about something that had happened with the board, that was the reason Hayes had been comforting her the night they’d ended up in bed. Although she’d refused to confide the reason.

Brody was right. They had to tie up every unanswered question. He owed Brody, and he owed Kimberly.

The waitress glanced at his beer to see if he wanted a refill. He did, but he shook his head and indicated he needed the check. Duty called.

“So who would want to hurt Taylor Landis?”

Brody grunted. “That’s what you need to find out. Could be related to her family’s foundation, or Sutton’s hiding something.” Brody hesitated. “Miles Landis is also suspect.”

Miles, Taylor’s half brother. The snotty brat had rubbed him wrong the moment he’d met him. “Yeah, I heard he’s had money troubles.”

“Right. And Taylor is supposed to inherit a boatload of money in four weeks, on her thirtieth birthday,” Brody continued. “That’s motive for Miles.”

Hayes grabbed the check and tossed down some cash, then strode toward the door. Tonight he’d wanted to drown himself in cheap beer, listen to country music and hang with the real people.

Instead, he had to head back to the neighborhood of the rich and greedy and Taylor Landis.

COULD THIS DAY GET ANY WORSE?

First the confrontation with Kenneth regarding his possible tampering with the bid for the new city library, then that ordeal with Miles at the restaurant.

The only highlight was the excitement about her best friend Margaret Hathaway’s upcoming wedding. Margaret had been alone a long time, had never gotten over giving her son up for adoption when she was fifteen. She’d even hinted at hiring a P.I. to look for him, but her father, Link, had insisted against it. Poor Margaret. Her friend’s pain had prompted Taylor to hire the P.I. herself. Finding out that her son’s adopted family loved him would make a perfect wedding gift to Margaret. Then she could finally have the happiness she deserved.

Her cell phone rang, and she checked the number as she turned into Cantara Hills. Miles.

Not again.

She let it ring until it went to voice mail, but a second later, it started all over again. Knowing he wouldn’t give up, she hit the connect button.

“I knew you were there,” Miles snarled.

“Listen, I already told you that I’m not giving you any money right now. Grow up and start being responsible.”

“You’ll be sorry for turning your back on me, Taylor.”

A chill swept up Taylor’s spine. “Is that a threat?”

His bitter laugh echoed over the line. “It’s a promise.”

The dial tone buzzed in her ear as he abruptly ended the call.

Taylor shivered. After her mother’s death, her father had quickly remarried. But his marriage to Miles’s mother hadn’t lasted long, and both she and Miles had been bitter and had tried repeatedly to milk him for money. But she’d never heard Miles so out of control. As she pulled down the drive to her mansion, she saw the crime scene tape in her driveway, and her senses jumped to alert.

The tape and the smoky, charred debris that had stained the imported Italian brick reminded her that someone had tried to kill her. That her body parts, instead of her BMW’s, could have been all over the lawn….

If she hadn’t rescheduled her appointment, she would have been driving home at the time the bomb exploded. According to Sergeant Egan Caldwell, the device had been set on a timer. Which meant that someone had known her routine and had intentionally planned for the car to explode with her inside.

Could Miles have done it? Or was Carlson Woodward responsible?

But why would Carlson have wanted her dead?

Hugging her arms around herself, she scanned the front of her estate, feeling paranoid as she let herself in and checked her security system. Ever since the breakins had started in Cantara Hills, she’d been nervous. Had expected to be hit. After all, her mansion held expensive furniture, paintings, vases, collectibles, and she had several exquisite customized one-of-a-kind pieces of jewelry her father had given her over the years.

All tucked away in her safe because she rarely wore them. She enjoyed the advantages money offered, but didn’t flaunt her wealth. In fact, that money was sometimes a curse. While most girls had to worry about men wanting in their pants, she had the added hassle of wondering if they wanted to get into her bank account. Even her father used his wealth to replace his feelings for her with expensive gifts.

And the break-ins—did the police believe that Carlson Woodward was responsible for them? She frowned and walked through the kitchen to the foyer and the spiral staircase, then wound her way up to her suite.

But why would Carlson steal from the neighbors? He didn’t need the money. Her little brother, Miles, was a different story. He was so desperate for cash and angry with some of her friends who’d begun refusing him loans, that he might resort to theft.

She slipped into a bathing suit, sighing as her bare feet sank into the plush Oriental rug. Padding barefoot down the steps, she exited through the sunroom, grabbed a towel from the pool house and dropped it, along with her cell phone, onto a patio chair. The last vestiges of sunlight had faded hours ago, but the pool lights illuminated the terrace, bathing the intricately patterned stonework in a pale glow. The smell of roses from the garden along with hydrangeas bordering the patio scented the air, disguising the hint of chlorine, and she stared into the shimmering aquamarine water.

Still, thoughts of Carlson’s attack on Caroline haunted her. She and Caroline had been neighbors and friends for years now. Apparently, Carlson had spread rumors in the community about Caroline having an affair with Sergeant Egan Caldwell, and had even called her father to stir up trouble.

Then he had attacked Caroline. Thankfully Ranger Caldwell had rescued Caroline and shot Carlson. Unfortunately Egan had been injured in the confrontation. Now Caroline had accompanied him to Austin to take care of him while he recuperated. Taylor still couldn’t believe that Caroline had fallen for the surly ranger.

She dove into the water and began a crawl stroke. She and Caroline had joked about the three cowboy cops who’d invaded their country club community with their big bodies, hard attitudes and…guns. They’d dubbed Lieutenant Brody McQuade, Kimberly’s brother, the intense one. Sergeant Egan Caldwell, the surly one. And Sergeant Hayes Keller—he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.

Still, an odd tingling rippled through her as she thought about him—he was all bad attitude. Big, brawny, muscular, with eyes as black as soot and a temper as hot as fire. He was just the kind of man she normally avoided because he looked as if he could snap a person into pieces with just one look. But still, he was dangerously sexy….

Her stomach clenched. Where had that thought come from?

She didn’t even like the guy. When he’d questioned her, she’d felt his disdain carving a hole through her.

She’d be glad when he left the area.

She swam another lap, counting strokes, but suddenly the lights flickered off, both outside and inside, pitching the terrace into darkness. Her breath hitched. There wasn’t a storm cloud in sight, no reason for a power failure.

Something was wrong.

Scanning the terrace and garden for signs of an intruder, she swam to the pool edge to get out and call security. Suddenly a movement at the edge of the gardens by the pool house caught her eye.

A man?

Panic shot through her. She had to call for help. But the chair where she’d put her phone was next to the gardens.

And the only unlocked door was the sunroom door. She’d have to pass the pool house to reach it.

Taking a deep breath, she took off running, but before she reached the door, someone clamped a gloved hand over her mouth and encircled her neck with the other. She clawed at his hands, but he dug his fingers into her larynx, cutting off her air. Remembering the self-defense moves she’d learned, she jabbed her elbow in his chest, brought her knee up then stomped down on his foot.

He growled in fury and tightened both hands around her throat. Blind panic assaulted her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Desperate, she reached for something to use as a weapon as they fell against a patio chair. Her hand closed around a garden shovel and she stabbed backward with it, but he knocked it from her hand and it skittered across the terrace.

Enraged, he punched her jaw so hard her ears rang and she saw stars.

She had to fight back. But he hit her again, her legs buckled and her knees hit the stone with a painful thud. He shoved her face down, and she tasted blood as her head slammed against the brick wall encircling the patio. Then he dragged her toward the pool.

Summoning her last bit of strength, she flailed and kicked, clawed at him, but they tumbled into the pool.

Gasping, she struggled to fight her way back to the surface, but he was too strong. She held her breath, but her lungs were on fire, and he squeezed her throat so tightly that she choked and inhaled water.

Then an empty darkness sucked her into its vortex.

HAYES PULLED TO A STOP at the iron-gated entrance to Taylor Landis’s estate, and pressed the intercom button. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, but she didn’t respond. Dammit, even if she wasn’t home, didn’t she have servants at her beck and call day and night?

He pressed the call button again, his impatience growing. What the hell was she doing? Lounging in some hot bath with cucumbers over her eyes, sipping champagne? Entertaining one of her rich guy friends? Maybe they were wallowing in bed with all their money.

Hell, maybe she wasn’t home. Probably out shopping.

Still, he had to make sure she was safe. Resigned, he scanned the key card through the security system. But the card didn’t work. Dammit, had she changed the system without informing them?

Or could something be wrong?

His heartbeat slammed in his chest, and he climbed out, removed his weapon, vaulted over the fence and jogged through the oaks lining the mile-long driveway, scanning the property for an intruder.

As the house slid into view, he searched the front yard, the sign of the crime scene tape a reminder that Brody might be right—that Taylor Landis might be in danger. He sped up until he reached the house, a cold monstrosity made of stone and brick with arches and palladium windows.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Why were the lights off?

The lingering odor of smoke and charred grass assaulted him, and he paused, a noise breaking the quiet. Water? A sprinkler maybe? But it had rained last night so why would Taylor have the sprinkler on?

He hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. The sound reverberated through the cavernous inside, an empty sound that came unanswered. He pressed it again, then glanced through a front window. Nothing looked out of place. But it was pitch-dark inside. Quiet. No movement. And there hadn’t been a storm to knock out the power.

What if someone had disarmed Taylor’s security or cut her lights?

Another noise jarred him, and he jerked his head toward the side of the house, then realized the noise had come from the back.

Sucking in a breath, he wielded his gun and slowly inched along the length of the house to the side, then around the corner where a terrace held a pool, sitting area, fireplace, cooking pit and a pool house. A clay flowerpot was overturned, dirt spilled across the stone.

Senses alert, his gaze swept the perimeter and the gardens. A water hose lay on the ground, spraying the stone. He shut off the water, wondering why someone would have directed it toward the pool instead of the lawn.

His breath caught as he neared the pool. A body was floating facedown inside.

God.

It was Taylor Landis.

Chapter Two

Heart pounding, Hayes laid his gun beside the pool, threw off his Stetson and boots, then dove into the water. He flipped Taylor over, cursing at the bruises on her face and neck as he carried her up the steps. Her long blond hair was a tangled mass around her slender face, and her arms dangled beside her, limp and lifeless.

He eased her onto one of the pool chairs, guilt nagging him for thinking that she’d been out shopping while she’d obviously been struggling for her life.

He quickly checked for a pulse. Hell, he couldn’t find one.

He punched the number for security. “Taylor Landis was assaulted. I need an ambulance and CSI team ASAP, and have your people search the surrounding area!”

He disconnected the call, then started chest compressions, tilted her head back, gently moved aside her hair, pinched her nose and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Come on, Taylor, breathe.”

Instead, she lay as limp as a rag doll, deathly pale.

Sweat exploded across his brow as he continued CPR.

Another breath. More chest compressions. Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. “Come on, Taylor, don’t die on me. Fight, dammit.”

He inhaled, closed his lips over hers again, and said a silent prayer that he hadn’t lost her already. Suddenly her body jerked and she gasped, a strangled plea for air. She was alive….

He muttered a silent thanks as he watched her eyes flicker.

She coughed, choking and gulping in air, and he tilted her head sideways so she could release the excess water trapped in her lungs. Her body trembled, then she slowly opened her eyes and her terrorized gaze met his.

Did she remember what had happened? Could she identify her attacker?

TAYLOR SHIVERED, CLAWING her way through the darkness. She was cold and shaking and ached all over. And she was so weak…What had happened?

Muddied, terrifying memories crashed back and panic bolted through her. The pool…the attack…she’d been fighting off the man, but he’d pushed her under water…

She had almost died.

A strangled cry escaped her, and she blinked to clear her vision, then stared in confusion at the man above her.

Sergeant Hayes Keller.

His black eyes pierced her like lasers, while his hands gripped her by the shoulders. For a brief moment, fear seized her, but he stroked her cheek so gently that a tidal wave of emotions welled inside her and tears flowed down her face.

“Shh, you’re going to be all right now, Taylor. I’ve called an ambulance.”

She gave a slight nod, then swallowed hard to stifle another cry, but the pitiful sound came out anyway. Embarrassed, she pressed her hand over her eyes to regain control and shield herself from his probing look.

She hated to appear weak in front of anyone. Especially this big tough guy with the bad attitude. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He lifted her fingers from her face, his voice husky and low.

“I’m…okay,” she whispered, although her throat felt raw and her voice sounded strained and broken. The effort it took for her to talk triggered a coughing spell, and he lifted her at an angle, murmuring comforting words until the fit subsided, and she sagged back against him.

“Taylor, did you see your attacker? Do you know who did this?”

She shook her head. “Too dark…”

“Was he on foot? Did you hear a car?”

“I don’t know.” An involuntary shudder rocked her. “He jumped me from behind….”

He clenched his jaw, looking harsh, yet his hands were tender as he stroked her back. “Just relax,” he said. “Let me get you a towel or something.”

He eased her back down on the chair, and she clutched his arm, not wanting him to leave.

“I’ll be right back.” He rushed away but returned in seconds and wrapped a thick, plush bath towel around her.

“I need to open the gate for the ambulance,” he said. “The security system was off and I couldn’t get through.”

She frowned, then realized that her attacker must have disarmed the alarm. But when? And how?

“Inside,” she said in a ragged voice. “By the mudroom entrance.”

He nodded, raced to the side entrance then disappeared inside the house. Terrified that her attacker might still be lurking nearby, she glanced around the terrace. There hadn’t been a car in the drive when she’d arrived home. And she hadn’t heard one after she went in the house. He must have come in on foot.

The rose garden with its canopy of trees, bushes and elaborate labyrinth of flower beds normally looked inviting but now it seemed eerie, a place for an intruder to hide. Even her home with its fortress of rooms would provide cover. He could be in a closet or one of the extra suites or even in her bedroom, for that matter.

Another chill swept through her.

What if her attacker was inside? What if he killed the ranger, then returned to finish her off?

HAYES HAD TO HURRY. He didn’t like leaving Taylor alone for a minute. She was too pale, scared to death, and her attacker might still be on the premises. With ten thousand square feet of house and three acres, no telling where the bastard might be.

He could even be in the house. Had he tried to kill Taylor so he could rob her? Or could her brother, Miles, have attacked her because of her inheritance?

He yanked his boots back on, and they squeaked on the Italian marble tile as he entered the mansion. He paused to listen, but it was quiet. Too quiet. If the security system had been breached because of the power outage, it should be beeping. The security team would also have been notified and would have shown up by now.

Someone had disarmed the alarm intentionally.

He located the security system panel and pushed the manual button to open the gates, grateful to hear the sirens approaching. Then he jogged back outside to Taylor. He’d do a thorough search of the property, house and system once she was taken care of.

She was crouched in the lounge chair, clutching the towel around her, trembling. He scanned the area, walked to the edge of the gardens and checked. But he saw no movement in the carefully tailored layout of trimmed bushes and rose vines. Something caught his eye on a low tree branch. A hair had gotten caught in the twig. A long blond hair but not as blond as Taylor’s. A woman’s hair.

But Taylor said she’d been attacked by a man.

He bagged the hair anyway for trace.

On edge, he strode back to Taylor, this time standing guard. His jaw clenched at the sight of the scrapes and abrasions on her knees and hands. A bruise darkened her cheek and her nails were jagged and bloody, indicating she’d fought her assailant. Good for her.

Damn bastard. He couldn’t stand the thought of any man beating on a woman. Maybe they’d find some trace evidence or DNA.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly.

She winced, biting down on her lip as if the horror of the memory was haunting her. “I came down for a swim,” she whispered, coughing in between the words.

He grimaced, knowing her throat was hurting, her vocal chords damaged from the attack.

“He attacked you inside or out here?”

“Out here.” She shuddered visibly. “I was swimming laps, then the lights went out.” She paused, and her hand went involuntarily to her throat. Whether from pain or trauma he didn’t know. Maybe both.